


all those dirty thoughts of me

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Series: Fall Out Boy Fic February 2015~ [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (there was noTHING but happiness and ben wa beads in that ep thank you), Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Non-Bipolar Ian, everything past 3x06 sleepover didn't happen, mickey/debbie brotp, quite literally a fic about sibling-in-law bonding and dick pics, that is all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘How many different angles can you take of the same dick, man?’<br/>‘Dunno, go through them and count.’<br/>‘What makes you think I kept –’<br/>‘Oh please, you’re thirstier than a man who’s been in the desert for fifty years.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	all those dirty thoughts of me

**Author's Note:**

> anon prompt: 347): tell your brother to quit sending me his dick pics what am i going to do with them print them out and shove them up my ass??? I like the idea of Mickey and Debbie being close. She reminds him the most of Ian and while Ian is deployed he teases Mickey. Obviously it's an AU idea lol
> 
> keeping with the theme - title from fall out boy's 'american beauty/american psycho' from the album of the same name. (and yes, i am aware that the follow up sentence to that one is "they were never yours to keep" (keep, wHOAAA WHOAAAA) but the lyric fit so there.)

No one was really that surprised that Ian had joined the army. He had been saying he would do it for years, and finally, at the grand age of twenty, he had enlisted. The only thing people were actually surprised about was how long it had taken him to do it. At age 18, Ian had moved out and into a small apartment with Mickey Milkovich, and eyebrows had raised so fast they almost caught fire.

So it turned out Mickey was gay (and – people suspected – topping Ian) and he and Ian were together, but as concerned as everyone had been that it would all fall to shit, it seemed that they had only gotten closer and stronger, and now being in the same room with them was like bathing in marshmellow fluff.

Or, rather, marshmellow fluff embedded with shards of glass, because Mickey was not exactly the kind of person who gave you the warm fuzzies. He was decidedly the opposite, but being with Ian had brought out this weird side to him. The one where he got Ian drinks, and idly stroked his hand through Ian’s hair, or over the back of his neck and shoulder, and even lay with his head in Ian’s lap sometimes. It was weird, but they were happy, so no one commented on it, and accepted Mickey seamlessly into their lives.

Mickey, also, was weirdly domestic. That happened pretty suddenly, actually, because he had previously shown fuck all interest in cooking, seeing as apparently Ian took care of that most of the time. He kind of just approached Debbie while she was cooking in the Gallagher kitchen one day and said, ‘Whatcha making?’

‘Spaghetti bolognaise,’ Debbie replied, stirring whatever was in the pan on the stove. ‘I think there might even be some parmesan in the fridge, so I’m gonna put some of that on top.’

Mickey nodded like he understood what Debbie had just said. ‘Ian makes this stuff sometimes.’

Debbie smiled and gave the pasta a swirl with the spoon to stop it from sticking together or to the pot. ‘Have you ever made it?’

Mickey shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m not very… good at cooking. I’ve always had Mands or Ian for that, so I’m limited to stews and those things you heat up.’

Debbie laughed (Mickey couldn’t help but let a tiny smile appear on his face, too). ‘Want to learn? I can teach you how to cook, if you want.’

Mickey nodded again. ‘I mean… if it’s not too much trouble.’

Debbie raised her eyebrows at the insecure tone. ‘Of course not. How are you with chopping onions?’

‘One of the only things I can actually do,’ Mickey muttered, taking the knife from her and starting on the pile of onions.

Debbie smiled happily at him, as he started in on the vegetables, and she started to season the stuff in the pan. ‘Hey, Ian!’ she greeted, spotting her brother come in from the back door, laden with bags of stuff that he dumped on the table.

‘Hey, Debs,’ Ian smiled, walking to the bench where Mickey was engrossed in his chopping. ‘Hey, Mick,’ he said, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.

‘Hi,’ Mickey murmured, pausing briefly to turn his head and peck Ian’s lips.

‘Helping out with dinner?’

‘Mm. Thought I better learn to cook, because… y’know.’

Ian hummed in agreement. ‘Yeah. I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Okay. And you need to teach me at home, too.’

Ian smiled at Mickey’s casual usage of the word _“home”_ , because they had one of those now. ‘I know.’

As Ian left to go do something outside – help with the pool? – Debbie started sorting out the groceries and said lightly, ‘So why have you decided to learn to cook?’

Mickey paused his onion cutting again to wipe tears from his eyes. Probably because of the onions, but Debbie wasn’t sure, because then Mickey said, ‘Ian enlisted.’

 

* * *

 

Ian had been gone for a little while now. Two months, one week and five days, if you wanted to be specific. Mickey and Debbie had hung out at least twice a week in that time, and though it started off so she could make sure he was still alive and hadn’t given himself food poisoning yet, they had developed a weird sort of friendship.

She reminded Mickey a lot of Ian. They both had an infectious, bubbly personality, both were inherently dangerous (especially now Debbie had invested in her own extendable baton like Mandy’s), and – obviously – they both had red hair. Also, they could both cook better than him, though Mickey was slowly but surely creeping up to their level.

 

* * *

 

Mickey was woken up one day, at four a.m., by his phone lighting up and making a loud _ping!_ noise. The ping, he knew, was from Snapchat. He should really disable that fucking noise, but he couldn’t be bothered. He hardly ever got snaps anyway, so it didn’t even matter that much, but when he did, that fucking noise annoyed the hell out of him.

When he realised the time, it occurred to him that it was more than likely Ian – unless Mandy was out and drunk off her face. If it was, he would ignore it and open it in the morning, but if it was Ian? Hell, Mickey always made time for Ian’s snaps.

As he entered the app, he got a notification at the top of his screen to say he had received another Snapchat from Ian, and that definitely got Mickey’s attention if nothing else did. He held his thumb over Ian’s username, temporarily blinded by the bright white background of the menu screen. First, he had a selfie from Ian, and damn he looked good. His hair was all mussed up, and from what Mickey could tell, he was shirtless, and that in itself nearly distracted him from the smirk Ian was giving the camera.

He waited for the picture to finish its timer, and then he was treated to a video. The screen glitched briefly, leaving Mickey with a weird facial expression from Ian, with a whole bunch of breathy noises in the background. Then the screen caught up, and the camera went straight down to Ian’s dick, which was being rapidly stroked, and Mickey bit his lip as his own twitched in his boxers.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Ian said quietly, and then the timer cut out.

Mickey was slightly disappointed it wasn’t longer, because honestly? He would happily be woken up every day at four in the morning to get a tiny snippet of semi-porn from his boyfriend.

It wasn’t the first time Ian had sent him a video, or dick pics for that matter, and God knows it wasn’t the last.

 

* * *

 

It became a daily thing. Mickey would be on the receiving end of a bunch of pictures, either in Snapchat, or after Ian had emailed them to him (and yeah – Mickey might’ve saved the emails into a specially marked folder, but he needed material to jerk off to, and Ian was just doing his boyfriendly duty by providing some) and really – it was hard. Ian’s cock was hard, and getting the pictures was verging on becoming even harder than _that_ , because it was making his deployment difficult to bear.  

It wasn’t like Mickey didn’t enjoy it most of the time, or didn’t return the sentiment by sending Ian his own dick pics, but there really was nothing Mickey could do but lament over the magnificent cock that was missing from his life, and wouldn’t be due to return for a few more months.

 

* * *

 

Debbie was at Mickey and Ian’s apartment one night, after Mickey invited her for dinner, because he had _finally_ got this weirdly complicated dish down pat, and he needed to show off to someone. Mandy was usually receptive to his dinner invitations (turned out Mickey hated eating dinner alone) but she had turned him down to go hang out with her new boyfriend, and Debbie was the closest thing he had to another sibling even vaguely interested in his cooking.

While Mickey whipped up a storm in the kitchen, Debbie sat at the small dining table using Mickey’s laptop to find a few other recipes she could help him learn. Then the Skype calling tone rang out through the laptop’s tinny speakers.

‘Who’s it?’ Mickey asked, throwing in some carrots.

‘Ian,’ Debbie replied, answering the call. ‘Hey, Ian!’

‘Debs?’ Ian said in confusion. ‘Hi?’

‘Hey!’ Mickey called over.

‘Oh, hey, babe!’ Ian called back, his face instantly lighting up. ‘What’re you doing at my house, Debs?’

‘Mickey’s cooking me dinner,’ Debbie said, laughing at the way Ian’s eyebrows shot up.

‘And you’re letting him be in there _alone_?’

‘Ay, fuck you!’ Mickey cried indignantly.

Ian grinned and laughed. ‘So he’s gotten better, I take it?’

‘Oh, yeah. Heaps better,’ Debbie nodded. ‘Just you wait until you’re back. He might even make you banoffee pie.’

‘Banoffee pie?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well, shit,’ Ian said, sounding impressed. ‘How’s everything going over there?’

‘Good, I mean –’

‘Debs, tell your brother something for me?’ Mickey called.

‘Mm?’ Debbie said, not minding in the least that he interrupted her.

‘Tell your brother to stop sending me so many dick pics. I don’t have a 3D printer, and printing them out on paper to shove up my ass just isn’t the same.’

Debbie blinked and opened and shut her mouth, not dissimilar to the manner of a goldfish. ‘Um.’

Meanwhile, Ian howled with laughter, and temporarily disappeared from the screen as he doubled over and clutched his sides in a vain attempt to stop the stitch he was getting. Apparently he was unphased by Mickey's request for less dick in his inbox. ‘Oh my God!’ he cried, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘Oh my actual God!’

‘Glad you think it’s funny, Gallagher,’ Mickey said, coming over and shoving his face right into the camera. ‘It’s really fucking not.’

‘But, Mick!’ Ian protested between laughs. ‘It’s just so… _hard_ being away from you.’

‘Fuck off,’ Mickey said, unable to suppress his own smirk. ‘You’re a dick.’

‘And by the sounds of it, you’re sick of it!’

‘I’m not _sick_ of it, but it’s overkill. How many different angles can you take of the same dick, man?’

‘Dunno, go through them and count.’

‘What makes you think I kept –’

‘Oh please, you’re thirstier than a man who’s been in the desert for fifty years,’ Ian said, finally calm enough to speak normally.

‘Fuck you, man,’ Mickey said, rolling his eyes and going back to the kitchen.

‘Where’d he go?’ Ian asked a pale, mildly disgusted looking Debbie.

‘To stir stuff,’ Debbie said. ‘Please don’t talk about your dicks in front of me. It’s an image I don’t want to see.’

‘Apparently Mickey’s in the same boat as you,’ Ian said seriously.

‘I’m going to punch you so hard in the face next time I see you,’ Mickey said loudly, as Ian cackled again in the background.

 

* * *

 

‘You know,’ Mickey murmured against Ian’s thigh. ‘Those pictures you sent me were nothing compared to the real thing.’

‘Mhmm,’ Ian smirked, as Mickey placed a kiss at the head of his cock. ‘I bet.’

‘Next time you’re deployed, can you stick to videos or something?’ Mickey asked, crawling back up Ian’s body and resting a knee either side of Ian’s hips, an arm either side of his head. ‘Never got bored of those.’

‘But you got bored of pictures?’ Ian asked, running his hands over Mickey’s back, gently going over the bumps of his spine.

‘Not bored so much as it made me miss you even more,’ Mickey said quietly, smiling down at Ian. ‘Makes me hate you for signing up.’

‘I know,’ Ian replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what? Signing up or sending so many dick pics?’

‘Not sorry for dick pics, obviously,’ Ian rolled his eyes. ‘I just really missed you.’

‘I don’t even know how you found so much time to send so many. Thought you were there to do army stuff, not shoot amateur porn.’

Ian laughed. ‘You make these things happen, Mick.’

‘Yeah. Well,’ Mickey huffed. ‘Whatever.’

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you?’

‘For enlisting.’

Mickey shook his head. ‘Gotta follow your dreams, man. I don’t have to like it.’

‘So would you let me follow my dreams if I decided to become a go-go dancer in Boystown?’

‘I think you’d be a great go-go dancer, but I want to keep you to myself.’

Ian grinned. ‘Just like you want me to keep some of my dick pics to myself.’

‘Not all of them. Just… maybe limit yourself. You make me feel really gay when I look at fifteen dick pics in rapid succession.’

‘Even gayer than you will be in a few seconds?’

‘What?’

‘With a dick up your ass.’

‘Oh…’ Mickey hummed thoughtfully. ‘Nah, not quite that gay. I only _wish_ I felt that gay.’

‘In that case,’ Ian rolled them over so Mickey was on his back, and said in what he hoped was a seductive tone, ‘Prepare to feel the rainbow.’

Mickey laughed so hard Ian had to wait for him to calm down before he could make Mickey truly _“feel the rainbow”_.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like that really turned to shit at the end tbh but OH WELL WHATEVER I'M TOO LAZY TO REWRITE IT. (sorry anon.)


End file.
